


I am the one you warned me of

by ms_anthrophy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Bottom Crowley, Come Marking, Demon Dean, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Fear Play, Humiliation, Knifeplay, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Rough Sex, Top Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 11:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_anthrophy/pseuds/ms_anthrophy
Summary: Crowley's project of getting himself his own Knight of Hell didn't go as expected. But the sex is great.





	I am the one you warned me of

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much a PWP, set during Dean's and Crowley's "summer of love" between seasons 9 and 10. There is also a tiny, but important allusion to background Wincest. 
> 
> Title snatched from Blue Öyster Cult. A huge "Thank you!" to jdl71 for beta work, to luciusmistress for some beta and alpha work and to Arabwel for help with the flow of the story. All remaining mistakes are mine.

"The fucking Abaddon loyalist bled all over my shirt. Should've killed her slower."

Dean pulls the bloodstained t-shirt over his head and tosses it carelessly on the polished floor of Crowley's throne room. Crowley has sent all his servants away -it would not do to let them see a Knight who doesn't show proper respect to his King. (Not to mention, the last time Crowley's court was present, Dean had decapitated his best scribe because Crowley had pissed him off. Now, that had been very inconvenient.)

The way he had played Dean when the hunter was desperate and suicidal, it had been _art_. A new Knight of Hell, born to serve as his lieutenant, keeping the demons in line. That's how it should have gone down. But what does he have now? A loose cannon, a hell-spawn time bomb, as fucking stubborn, volatile and unpredictable as he had been in life. No. Worse. A _lot_ worse. Crowley is puzzled and Dean... Dean is complicated.

Crowley's gaze lingers on Dean and he feels the moderately successful literary agent's (rather remarkable) cock harden in his pants. The hunter has always been ridiculously attractive but now, died and born anew into the darkness... this is perfection. 

The anti-possession charm tattooed on Dean's muscular chest makes Crowley smile. No demon could get in, but it hadn't protect his soul, now a tarnished and rotten thing, mirrored in the dark void that looks at him through Dean's eyes. Dean's full lips curl into a lewd smirk, laced with cruelty, and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. _There would be a picture of Dean next to the word "easy" in a dictionary._

"Dude. Just say it aloud. I can see how you're dying to bend over for me."  
"This is interesting, considering your earlier opinions about sexual relations with demons."

Dean's eyes flash green and angry for a second. Then the calm, all out of fucks to give-attitude takes over, and he just shrugs.

"Well. I'm one now. And I've fucked a scream queen, a porn star and an angel. Might as well add the King of Hell to the list."  
"I'm not objecting. After all, I've never fucked a Knight of Hell before. Abaddon was attractive, but her personality left a lot to be desired."  
"'Cos she was constantly trying to kill you?"  
"Nah. I'm not that petty. It was the one-track mind."  
"Yeah, well, enough of foreplay."

Dean grabs Crowley's collar and roughly draws him closer. He unties the dark gray designer tie with calloused, agile fingers and pulls it off. Crowley chuckles.

"Seriously? Do you really have some 'Me Christian Grey, you Anastasia Steele' roleplay in mind, Squirrel?" _Her deal is due 2020, by the way_ , Crowley absently notes to himself. He opens his belt and pulls his pants down, an odd shiver going down his spine. 

"Just laying some ground rules. You're the bitch and you'll get to come if I let you."

Dean ties the expensive silk tie around the base of Crowley's cock, his hands still stained with blood. He raises his eyebrow questioningly.

"You choose your meatsuits based on dick size?"  
"It is usually one of the reasons. Among others."  
"Well, that's the way you started. Now, get on all fours for me."  
"On the floor?" Crowley asks with mock outrage. It would be devastating if his reasonably loyal minions saw him like that -and it just makes the idea hotter. He obeys, nerves thrumming with anticipation, not taking in how cold the stone floor feels against his bare hands and knees.

Dean opens the button fly of his jeans and takes his cock out, strokes it slowly and rubs it against Crowley's cheek. He walks a circle around Crowley, slowly, with feline grace, like a tiger stalking his prey.

"Spread for me. Wanna see what I'm gonna have."

Dean spits on his palm and coats his cock with saliva, more from old habit than any concern for Crowley's comfort. Or his own, for that matter. Demon bodies can endure -and enjoy- a lot of things humans don't. He fucks into Crowley with one thrust, deep and hard, bottoms out, the dizzying tightness making him groan.

Dean is big and it hurts; hurts really good. Crowley moans and neither of them cares that he is already bleeding. He arches his ass against Dean, takes it, loves it all. _Still... could spice it up a bit more._ Crowley glances at Dean, malice glinting in his eyes.

"I don't mind if you call me Sammy."  
"Did I ask for smart-ass comments, slut?" Dean snarls. Sam is the one he's trying to forget. Hell, Dean left Sam because he knew he'd lose control and kill him, one day. He's seen it in his mind, how he's covered in blood, standing knee-deep in his brother's entrails. _No. Not Sammy._ The feeling is like a stubborn pulse somewhere under the stench of burned bodies, of black smoke filling his being. _Protect Sammy, take care of Sammy. In every possible way..._ Ruins of something that was beyond love; now rotten and decayed, but somehow still there. 

Crowley smiles to himself, he likes Dean's anger now. So much energy, so little direction. Then he feels the sharp edge of a blade on his throat. The First Blade. _Bollocks._

"Just one little move to cut your throat, you know? It's all it takes. So you better shut the fuck up and just take it. I like you so much better like that, full of my dick, so nice and tight..."

Dean presses the First Blade just a bit harder against Crowley's throat. It barely nicks the skin, a few drops of tainted blood drip down his neck. He can feel the Mark pulsating under his skin, the bloodlust and carnage calling to him. _No. I won't. I'll keep him alive... as mine._ Dean pushes the urge for murder aside. He concentrates on the here and now, how hot and tight Crowley's hole feels around his cock, all the friction, without any prep or lube. The power-trip, how he has the King of Hell on his hands and knees, taking it like the good slut he is, under the pompous facade. 

"What would your loyal minions think if they saw you like this, huh? Spreading for me, moaning and begging like a bitch in heat. King of Hell... yeah, right. You're just my whore."

This is _something else_. Crowley's eternal, damned life is in real danger, and still he can only whimper and beg for more. It goes against his very being, bound for survival, cunning, always calculating, planning, plotting, counter-plotting. But still, the danger beckons. The sharp, jagged edge on his throat, touch like promise of death in blood-dripping whispers. He feels _alive_ , hellfire-dulled nerve endings lit lightning-bright. He doesn't know if he wants it, but he needs it. He has craved for this more than anything for a long time; after he had plotted his way to the top, after he had gotten all he wanted, after he found the emptiness of it all. 

Dean thrusts his dick balls deep into Crowley's ass and stops. Crowley realizes he's whimpering pitifully, trying to fuck himself on Dean's cock, until he feels the First Blade breaking his skin again.

"Stay." Dean's voice is laced with dominance and disdain, like he's commanding a dog. Crowley obeys. He should hate this and maybe he does, but he's too far one to feel anything but desperate lust.

Dean is a worthy adversary. Crowley can submit now ( _It's just a part of the plan_ , he tells himself and maybe even believes it), take his time to learn what made Dean tick. Everyone is a puppet, you just have to find the strings. Meanwhile, he can't deny how good it is, being under Dean, fucked, _used_. 

"Good cockslut. Beg me."  
"P-please?"  
"Please what?"  
"Fuck me raw, Sir! Please!"

There's a slight tinge of embarrassment in how soon he breaks and begs, but it all dissolves into pleasure-pain when Dean grabs Crowley by the hair and gives a whole new meaning for "fucks like a demon".Crowley feels like he's been flayed from the inside, reduced to a throbbing piece of meat. All the plots and plans are dissolved into this haze.

"You're nothing. Just a nice, warm hole for my come. I could just rip you apart, slit your throat, just the moment I fill you up. You'd convulse, grip me so tight..." _It'd be nice. To kill a king just to make me come harder... but not now. There's gonna be another time._

Dean's fingers dig into Crowley's hips, his other hand still holding the First Blade on his throat. His thrusts grow faster and more erratic, Crowley can _feel_ how the Mark beckons Dean to murder, he sees the way his hand is shaking. A bright, sharp spike of fear and lust pierces his whole being and he is so close, on the edge, when Dean removes the blade from his throat, pulls out, and comes all over Crowley's ass. 

Dean rubs his come on Crowley's ass, on his face, wipes the rest on Crowley's suit. Scent-marking him like some animal-like ritual of predator and prey, claiming dominance and ownership. _Mine. All mine._

Crowley is so hard it hurts, more than it should be possible for a soul charred in the lake of fire. He has to force himself to not remove the silk tie wrapped around the base of his cock. He can't, knows deep in his hidden bones that Dean would kill him, the act of disobedience would surely send the hunter-turned-demon down the murderous spiral and that just makes it feel better. He has to beg, for real, and it's so wrong it's right, it just heightens the desperate lust.

"Please. Sir, let me come."

Dean turns and sits on Crowley's throne ( _Like he owns the bloody thing and doesn't even care_ , Crowley thinks to himself), relaxed and satisfied, a cruel smirk on his lips, amusement sparkling in the depths of the blackness of his eyes. 

"Fucked you raw and bleeding. You're gonna feel it for a week, all the while ruling your demons. You know you're just my dirty little slut. And you're gonna come crawling back for more and you know it."

He gestures towards his still half-hard dick.

"Clean me and I'll get you off."

Crowley runs his tongue up and down Dean's length hungrily, licks the last traces of come, tastes the blood and musk of the moderately successful literary agent he is wearing. Dean gives Crowley a condescending pat on the head.

"Good boy." 

Dean raises the First Blade and brings it down in one lightning-fast slash, Crowley feels time stop, the lust and fear buzzing through his blood, so alive in this moment of surrender. Dean stops, the blade almost touching Crowley's cock. He cuts the silk tie in half, the jagged edge just kissing the skin of Crowley's balls, not one drop of blood spilled and he comes, untouched, so hard it feels like he'd smoke out just about now, spills all over his expensive clothes and Dean's hand.

"You got my hand all dirty, demon whore."

Dean grabs Crowley by his hair and wipes his come-stained fingers clean on his suit, Crowley is so blissfully fucked-out he doesn't even bother to wrinkle his nose at the mess. Or at Dean's attitude, which he shouldn't find so hot, but he does. After he catches his breath, Crowley tucks himself in and gets to his feet, nonchalant, calm and collected, only slight irritation oozing to the surface.

"Did you _really_ have to? It was my favourite tie."


End file.
